


Try harder next time

by stormthedarkcity



Series: Fictober 2018 [13]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, If you hunt the Zevran the Zevran will hunt you back, Kinda, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2020-10-04 07:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormthedarkcity/pseuds/stormthedarkcity
Summary: Zevran is a massive thorn in Grandmaster Arainai's foot.





	Try harder next time

Eoman Arainai had had enough of that slippery, impertinent pain in his ass. More than enough. Two dozen men had already been sent after that good-for-nothing, insolent bad seed. None had returned. _None_.

Intel kept trickling back to Antiva, sightings of dead Crows in the streets, on the roads, in inn rooms and public baths…

Not only was this son-of-a-whore a deserter, but he was also terrible for business. The Crows of House Arainai were getting fewer by the day. By the Maker’s balls, Eoman had even had to hold back on the torture to make sure he didn’t end up with too many dead recruits! Holding back on torture! Every House knew that you couldn’t make good assassins without testing their limits first!

Eoman huffed loudly, fist hitting his desk in a heavy thud. “What else?” he barked at the poor messenger standing in the doorway. His face had been pale even before he’d listed the new casualties. He twisted his hands together, fingers white against a piece of parchment.

“There was a note, with to the bodies, Grandmaster Arainai. It was… It was pinned to the eldest’s chest with her own dagger.”

Eoman groaned and held out his hand. “Show me,” he ordered.

The messenger gave it to him and stepped back quickly, like standing within arm’s reach would burn him.

The piece of paper cracked under Eoman’s fingers as he unfolded it. The top part was torn, presumably from the dagger, and it was stained a red-black colour. It included a single line, the letters black and sharp.

_ “Try harder next time. –Z.”_

He crumpled the letter in his fist, with so much strength that his arm started trembling. His jaw ached from squeezing it tight.

“Grandmaster Arainai?”

His fist hit the table a second time. He couldn’t have let go of the parchment if he’d wanted to. He spoke with his eyes closed, slowly, between gritted teeth. “I am going to pluck his nails and make him eat them, and then I’ll chop his head off and hang it right.over.my.door.” He didn’t bother to look up. “Get out.”


End file.
